by Jan Potocki
On the way, ben Mamoun had spoken a great deal to me about his learned sister, and I expected to meet a black-haired Medea with a wand in her hand, muttering some incomprehensible words under her breath. But my image of her was quite wrong. Sweet Rebecca met us at the gate of the castle. She was the most adorable and engaging blonde. Her golden locks fell naturally down to her shoulders. She was dressed in a simple white dress secured by priceless clasps. Her outward appearance suggested someone who gave no thought to what she wore, but had she thought more about it, it would have been difficult for her to achieve a better effect.
Rebecca threw her arms around her brother’s neck and said, ‘You have given me a terrible fright. You always kept in touch except for the first night. What happened to you?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it,’ said ben Mamoun, ‘but for the moment think only of receiving the guests I have brought with me. This is the hermit from the valley, and this young man is a Gomelez.’
Rebecca glanced at the hermit with some indifference, but when she caught sight of me she seemed to blush and said with an air of sadness, ‘I hope for the sake of your happiness that you are not one of us.’
We went in and the drawbridge was raised behind us. The castle was quite immense and seemed in excellent order. There seemed to be only two servants: a young mulatto and a girl of the same age and race. Ben Mamoun first took us to his library, a little rotunda which served also as a dining room. The mulatto laid the table-cloth, brought in an olla podrida and set four places, for the fair Rebecca did not sit down to table with us. The hermit ate more than usual for him and seemed also to become more human. Pacheco, who still only had one eye, did not seem to think himself possessed any more, although he was grave and remained silent. Ben Mamoun had a healthy appetite, but he seemed preoccupied and admitted that his adventure of the previous day had given him much to reflect upon.
As soon as we got up from table he said, ‘Dear guests, here are books to keep you entertained, and my negro servant will gladly attend to all your desires. But I hope that you will allow me to withdraw with my sister. There is important work to be done. You will not see us again before, the midday meal tomorrow.’
Ben Mamoun then duly withdrew and left us as it were in charge of the house.
The hermit took down from the bookcase an account of the lives of the Desert Fathers and told Pacheco to read some chapters aloud to him. I went out on to the terrace, which overlooked a precipice in whose unseen depth there flowed a raging river, which could be heard roaring below. However desolate the countryside looked, it gave me great pleasure to contemplate it, or rather to give myself over to the feeling which it inspired in me as I looked at it. This was not melancholy but rather an annihilation of all my faculties brought about by the many violent emotions to which I had been a prey for the last few days. Having thought much about what had happened to me and having come to no understanding of it, I no longer dared to dwell on it any more for fear of losing my reason. The prospect of spending a few quiet days in the castle of Uzeda was what gave me most hope. I left the terrace and went back into the library.
Then the young mulatto served a light meal of dried fruit and cold meats, none from unclean animals. Thereafter we went our own separate ways. The hermit and Pacheco were taken to one bedroom, I to another.
I lay down and fell asleep.
Shortly afterwards I was awoken by the fair Rebecca, who said to me, ‘Señor Alphonse, forgive me for interrupting your rest. I have come from my brother’s apartment. We have tried the most terrible invocations in order to discover who the two spirits were with whom he dealt at the venta, but without success. We think that he was tricked by baalim9 over whom we have no power. Yet the dwelling of Enoch is indeed as he saw it. All this is of the highest importance to us and I beg you to tell us what you know.’
Having said this, Rebecca sat down on my bed, but she sat down only for that purpose and seemed only concerned with the information that she was asking of me. But she did not obtain it for I confined myself to telling her that I had given my word never to speak about the matter.
‘But Señor Alphonse,’ continued Rebecca, ‘how can you believe that a promise given to two demons can be binding on you? Now we know already that there are two female demons there called Emina and Zubeida, but we don’t know very much about the nature of these demons because in our art as in all others one cannot know everything.’
I stuck to my refusal and asked the beautiful girl not to speak any more about the matter.
She then looked at me with a kind of benevolence and said, ‘How lucky you are to have principles of virtue which guide you in all your actions and which keep your conscience clear! How different is our own fate! We have striven to see what mortal eyes are not given to see and to know what mortal reason may not comprehend. I was not meant for such sublime knowledge. I care little for my futile authority over demons. I would have been well satisfied to rule over the heart of a husband but my father decided otherwise and I must bow to my destiny.’
As she spoke these words Rebecca drew out a handkerchief, apparently to hide her tears. Then she continued, ‘Señor Alphonse, please allow me to return tomorrow at the same time and try again to overcome your stubbornness or, as you would call it, your steadfast attachment to your word. Soon the sun will enter the sign of Virgo. It will be too late then and what will happen, will happen.’
In taking leave of me, Rebecca shook my hand in a friendly way and seemed reluctant to go back to her cabbalistic exercises.
The Tenth Day
I woke earlier than usual and went out on to the terrace to get a breath of fresh air before the sun had made the atmosphere too hot. There was no wind and above the roar of the river, which seemed now less furious, the chant of bird-song could be heard.
The peace of the elements stole into my soul and I was able to reflect with some tranquillity on what had happened to me since I left Cadiz. A few passing comments of Don Enrique de Sa, the governor of that city, which then came to my mind, led me to think that he also was part of the mysterious existence of the Gomelez and that he too knew part of their secret. He it was who had recommended to me my two valets, Lopez and Mosquito. I suppose it was on his orders that they deserted me at the entrance to the disastrous valley of Los Hermanos. My cousins had often led me to believe that I would be tested. I conjectured that I had been given a sleeping draught at the venta and that I had been carried under the gallows as I slept. Pacheco could have lost an eye in a quite different way than by an amorous liaison with two hanged men, and his terrifying story might be no more than a fable. The hermit, who was continually trying to discover my secret by means of the sacrament of confession, seemed to me then to be an agent of the Gomelez seeking to test my discretion.
At last, just as I thought I was beginning to understand better what had happened to me and to be able to explain it without having recourse to supernatural beings, I heard in the distance merry music which seemed to be coming from round the mountain. The music soon became more distinct and I saw a jolly band of gypsies who were marching along in step, singing and accompanying themselves on their sonajas and cascarras.1 They set up their little temporary camp near the terrace, giving me the opportunity of observing the clothes and accoutrements which gave them so elegant an appearance. I supposed that these were the same gypsy thieves under whose protection the innkeeper of the Venta de Cárdenas had placed himself, as the hermit had told me. But they seemed too gallant to be brigands. As I was observing them, they set up their tents, placed their ollas over their fires and hung their babies’ cradles from the branches of nearby trees. When all these preparations had been completed, they devoted themselves again to the pleasures of their nomadic existence, the greatest of which in their eyes was doing nothing.
The tent of their leader was distinguished from the others not only by the pole topped by a great silver knob which was planted at its entrance but also by its excellent condition and rich ornamental fringe, w
hich is not usually seen on gypsies’ tents. But you can imagine my surprise on seeing the tent open and my two cousins come out, wearing the elegant costume which in Spain is known as a la gitana maja. They came up to the terrace without, however, seeming to see me. Then they hailed their companions and began to dance that well-known polo to the words:
Cuando mi Paco me alce
las palmas para bailar
se me pone el cuerpecito
como hecho de mazapan, etc.2
If affectionate Emina and sweet Zubeida had turned my head when dressed in their Moorish simars, they delighted me no less in this new costume. But I thought that they had a sly, mocking air about them of the kind which suited fortune-tellers and which seemed to suggest that they were plotting some new trick on me by appearing before me in this new and unexpected guise.
The cabbalist’s castle was carefully locked up. He alone held the keys, so I was unable to join the gypsies; but by taking a tunnel which led to the river and which was shut off by an iron gate, I was able to take a close look at them, and even speak to them without being seen by those in the castle. So I went down to this secret gate and found myself separated from the dancers by no more than the bed of the river. They turned out not to be my cousins. They even appeared to me to have a somewhat common air typical of their station in life.
Ashamed of my mistake, I went slowly back up to the terrace. When I reached it, I looked down again and recognized my cousins. They seemed to recognize me too, burst out laughing and then retired to their tent.
I was indignant. Heavens above, I said to myself, can it be possible that two such adorable and adoring creatures should be two sprites who are in the habit of playing tricks on mortals by taking on many forms and shapes? Or even two witches? Or, what would be even more horrible, vampires which heaven has allowed to assume the hideous bodies of the hanged men in the valley? It seemed to me a moment ago that all my experiences could have had a natural explanation, but now I was not so sure.
As these thoughts were passing through my mind I returned to the library, where I found a thick tome on the table, written in Gothic script, entitled Curious Stories by Happelius. The book lay open and the page seemed to have been folded over deliberately to mark the beginning of a chapter in which I read the following story:3
THE STORY OF THIBAUD DE LA JACQUIÈRE
Once upon a time in France, in the town of Lyon, situated on the river Rhône, there was a wealthy merchant whose name was Jacques de la Jacquière; or rather he only took the name de la Jacquière after he had retired from commerce to become the provost of the city, which is an office the people of Lyon only give to men of great personal fortune and spotless reputation. Such was the good Provost de la Jacquière. He was charitable to the poor and a benefactor of monks and other religions, who are according to the law the true poor.
But the provost’s only son, Thibaud de la Jacquière, ensign in the king’s men-at-arms, was not at all like his father. A stout campaigner who was always ready to draw his sword, a lusty seducer of girls, a shaker of dice, breaker of windows, smasher of lanterns, blasphemer and swearer, who often collared citizens in the street and swapped his old coat for a new one and his hat for a better one. So it was not long before Messire Thibaud was the talk of the town in Paris, in Blois, in Fontainebleau and in the other royal residences. Now our good king of saintly memory, François I, came eventually to be displeased by the behaviour of the young officer and sent him back to Lyon to do penance in the house of his father, the good Provost de la Jacquière, who lived at that time on the corner of the Place de Bellecour at the top of the Rue St Ramond.
Young Thibaud was received back into his father’s house with as much joy as if he had come bearing all the indulgences in Rome. Not only was the fatted calf killed for him, but the good provost gave a banquet for his friends that cost more gold ecus than there were guests. And that is not all. The young stalwart’s health was drunk and everyone wished him wisdom and true repentance.
But these charitable wishes displeased him. He took a golden cup from the table, filled it with wine and said, ‘By the bloody death of the great devil himself, I pledge my body and my soul in this wine if ever I become a better man than I am now.’
These terrible words made the guests’ hair stand on end. They crossed themselves and some of them rose from the table.
Thibaud also rose and went to take the air on the Place de Bellecour, where he ran into two of his former companions, who were rakes like himself. He embraced them, took them home with him and had them served many flasks of wine, without sparing a thought for his father and the other guests.
What Thibaud had done on the day he arrived he did the next day too, and all the days after that. The goodly provost’s heart was broken and he resolved to commend himself to his patron saint, St James, and to place before the saint’s image a candle weighing ten pounds which was decorated with two gold rings, each worth five marks. But as the provost tried to put the candle on the altar, he dropped it and upset a silver lamp which was burning in front of the saint. The provost had had this candle made for another purpose, but nothing was closer to his heart than his son’s conversion and he joyfully made the offering. However, when he saw the candle on the ground and the upset lamp he interpreted this as a bad omen and sadly made his way home.
On that same day Messire Thibaud again entertained his friends. They tossed back many a flask of wine, and when the night was already far advanced and it was pitch-black they went out to take the air on the Place de Bellecour. Once there, they linked arms and swaggered up and down like young men who think they will attract the attention of the girls in this way. But on this occasion it was to no avail, for neither girl nor woman passed by and they could not be seen from the windows because it was a dark night, as I have already said. So young Thibaud, in a louder voice than before and swearing his customary oath, said, ‘By the bloody death of the great devil himself I promise to give him my soul and body if the great she-devil, his daughter, were to pass by and I had my way with her. For this wine has made my blood hot.’
These words displeased Thibaud’s two companions, who were not as great sinners as he. One of them said, ‘Messire, my good friend, remember that the devil is the eternal enemy of mankind and he does enough mischief without being invited and his name being invoked.’
But to this Thibaud only replied, ‘I shall do what I have said.’
As he spoke the three rakes saw a lady wearing a veil, with the charming figure of one still very young, come out of a nearby street. She was pursued by a little black servant, who tripped, fell on his face and broke his lantern. The young lady seemed very frightened and did not know what to do. Then Messire Thibaud went up to her and as politely as he could he offered her his arm to accompany her home. After protesting a little, our poor damsel in distress accepted, and Thibaud turned to his companions and whispered to them, ‘There, you see that the one I invoked hasn’t kept me waiting. I bid you good-night.’
The two friends realized what he wanted and took their leave of him, laughing and wishing him joy and happiness.
Thibaud gave his arm to the fair young maiden, and the little negro whose lantern had gone out walked in front of them. The young lady seemed so distressed at first that she could hardly stand, but her courage returned little by little and she leaned more boldly on her escort’s arm. From time to time she stumbled and even held tight to his arm to save herself from falling over. Then her escort would support her and press her arm against his breast, which he did, however, with great discretion so as not to startle his quarry.
So they walked and walked for such a long time that in the end it seemed to Thibaud that they had lost their way in the streets of Lyon. But he was not in the least displeased about this for it seemed to him that he would have his will all the more easily with his pretty lady, who had lost her way. But desiring to know whom he was dealing with, he asked her to sit down on a stone seat which he caught sight of near a doorway. She
agreed and he sat down next to her. He then took one of her hands in a gallant manner and wittily said to her, ‘Oh lovely wandering star, since my star brought it about that we have met tonight, be so kind as to tell me who you are and where you live.’
The young lady seemed at first very shy, but gradually grew in confidence and spoke as follows:
THE STORY OF THE FAIR MAIDEN OF THE CASTLE OF SOMBRE
My name is Orlandine, or at least that is what I was called by the few people who lived with me in the Château de Sombre in the Pyrenees. There the only human beings I ever saw were my governess, who was deaf, and a maidservant, who stammered so badly that she could well have been called mute, and an old gatekeeper, who was blind.
The gatekeeper did not have much to do, since he only had to open the castle gates once a year to admit a gentleman who only visited us to take me by the chin and speak to my duenna in Basque, which I do not understand. Fortunately, I could speak when I was locked away in the castle of Sombre, for I certainly would not have learnt to speak from my two companions in that prison. As for the blind gatekeeper, I only ever saw him when he came to pass our meals through the bars of our only window. To be fair, my deaf governess shouted moral advice in my ears, but I made so little of it that I might have been as deaf as she, for she spoke of the duties of marriage without telling me what marriage was. She spoke in the same way about many other things which she refused to explain. Often my stammering maidservant tried to tell me some story that she assured me was very funny, but since she would never get beyond the first sentence she was forced to give up, stammering out excuses, which she managed to do no better than she could tell stories.
As I have told you, we had only one window, by which I mean only one looked out on to the courtyard of the castle. The others looked on to another courtyard which, as there were trees planted there, could pass for a garden, and to which there was only one way out, which led through my bedroom. I grew a few flowers there. It was my one pastime.
